Flu And Friendships
by MimiRose113
Summary: Steve's not feeling too good yet seems intent on suffering alone. Should he be shocked when the gang refuse to let him? Sick fic.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't sue.**

**Author Note: Another sick!Steve ficlet for you all. Unbetaed. Please point out any obvious mistakes my tired eyes may have missed. Enjoy!**

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><p><strong>Soda's POV<strong>

I was just beginning to get really stressed out at work when the familiar truck swung into the parking lot and Darry got out. I went to meet him.

"Hey, Soda," he greeted me as I came up.

"Hey, Dar. Need a fill-up?"

"Yeah. Also need a spare." He kicked the front passenger tire irately. "Bloody got a puncture heading down past Buck's place."

I studied the partly deflated wheel before glancing back up at him.

"I got one that'll do. But I'm overrun with cars at the moment so I'll change it back home. This one'll get ya back but don't go running around on it more than ya can help."

"Damn, you sure it won't stretch another coupla miles? I gotta go - "

"Darry, I may be a dropout but I know my cars," I told him, jabbing my finger at him good-naturedly.

To be straight, it probably would be okay, it was a slow leak after all. But I'd rather he didn't. Last thing I wanted was my big brother ending up in a hedge. And it was his day off, anyways. In my opinion he shouldn't be out running errands. Who takes a day off to do _errands? _Am I right? I'm right.

He sighed, relenting.

"Sure thing, Sodapop. Why's it such a madhouse today then?" he asked conversationally, leaning against the hood as I topped up the tank.

"It's not really. Just...well, it's difficult trying to do two jobs at once. Dunno how you cope," I added dryly, sending him a look.

He ignored that comment. I'd never hidden the fact I thought he worked too hard.

"Two jobs?"

I shrugged.

"Steve ain't much help today."

"How come?"

"He...he don't seem too good."

"Goody should send him home."

"Easier said than done, Darry."

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><p><strong>Darry's POV<strong>

He finished with the pump and I followed him inside to collect the new-ish wheel he was gonna give me. Steve was in the shop, hands resting heavily on the counter. I'll be honest, he looked like shit.

"Hey, Steve."

"Hey, Dar," he croaked.

Sounded like shit too.

"Ya shouldn't be here, buddy," Soda told him gently. "Go home."

Steve was shaking his head before Soda had even finished his sentence.

"Don't wanna go home," he growled, eyes clenched shut tight. "I'm fine."

Soda sighed and gave me a 'I-told-you-so' look before vanishing into the back and bringing me out my much-needed tire.

"Here ya go, Dar."

"Thanks, Soda."

Steve moaned and put his head down on the desk.

"Still think you're fine?" Soda asked.

Steve shot him a glare out from under his arms.

"Shut it, Soda."

"Crikey, Steve," I murmured as Soda rang up my stuff. "Just go home already."

The stubborn teenager shook his head again.

"Why not?" Soda demanded, his patience obviously beginning to wear a bit thin.

"Why so?"

"Hanging 'round this place ain't gonna make you feel better."

"And going home an' having my dad beat on me will?" he shot back.

Ah. So that's the problem. Me and Soda looked at each other.

"Go home with Dar."

"Come back with me."

Those two sentences came out a bit jumbled as we said them at exactly the same time but Steve got it. However, he was _still_ shaking his head. God damn, kid. He's gonna give himself vertigo. Oops, there we go...

Steve just managed to catch himself before he fell then chose to avoid a concerned Soda by coming out the counter flap and sagging against the vending machine, forehead pressed against the cool glass.

"Why not?" Soda asked again.

"'Cos."

"I'm gonna need a little more than that, Steve."

"Okay, _be_cause."

"Well, that's a concrete argument," I answered sarcastically. "I dunno how we can counter that, Soda."

I got a 'you-are-_so_-not-helping' look and rolled my eyes. Soda sure can say a lot without saying anything. Anyway, Steve was beginning to wear _my_ patience a little thin now.

"Are you gonna come with me or not?" I asked him impatiently.

"Make me."

Well, okay then, I thought.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author Note: Okay, someone pointed out to me that I'd spelt tire wrong in the last chapter. Technically I didn't because I'm from little ol' England and we spell it 'tyre' here. But I figured that seems it is from the Curtis boys' POV they probably would spell it the American way so I've now changed :) Someone else asked why I put Goody as the DX boss' name. Truth is I'd read that name in a couple of Outsider fics and thought maybe I missed it somehow in the book. Hey ho. Guess not. But that's his name now.**

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><p><strong>Darry's POV<strong>

"Make me."

Well, if that's how he really wanted to play it, I thought, adjusting the tire under my arm. No way could I in good conscience leave him here in the state he was in. So I did the easiest option available to me.

He was still leaning against the vending machine and his back was to me so I simply stepped up behind him and wrapped my free arm around his waist, half-tucked him under my arm and turned to carry him out.

"I'm taking him to our place," I told Soda flatly, heading for the door.

I almost ran into Goody on the way out. He merely nodded a greeting and held the door open for me.

"I've been wanting to do that all day," he confessed as I passed.

Obviously, Steve took none of this in silence. He'd been yelling and protesting as soon as I'd grabbed him. He was still struggling against me as I reached the truck and tossed the tire into the bed. I opened the passenger door with my now-free hand and dumped Steve in the seat without letting him touch the ground. I had a feeling that if he was given the opportunity he'd be off like a rocket. Considering this, I quickly flipped the little switch that activated the child safety lock before closing the door. I noticed, albeit a little smugly, that when I climbed in my side he was looking a little confused. No doubt he had tried his door and couldn't figure for the life of him why it now apparently wasn't working.

If looks could kill I'm pretty sure I'd have keeled over on the ride home. Steve had lapsed into a stony silence but was scowling angrily with his arms folded across his chest. Bloody hell, anyone would think I was kidnapping him, not trying to help. Well, by dictionary definition I _was_ technically kidnapping him, but not by motive so it doesn't count.

I pulled up outside the house and got out, making my way around to his door, but he had already slid across the seats and was clambering out through the driver's side. I made my way quickly around the truck but unfortunately not quick enough to stop him crashing to the ground. He looked up at me, startled how his legs could apparently turn to jello.

"You shoulda just stayed in the truck," I told him, then simply just scooped him up and carried him up the porch steps.

He was eerily quiet now. Not the angry silence from the truck, but the kinda silence that indicated that he'd resigned to his fate. Subdued, I bet, by the knowledge that his muscles weren't gonna obey him anymore. Even if I did give him permission to leave, he wouldn't be able to make it ten feet without help.

I went through the front door and set him down on the sofa, before heading for the kitchen. I grabbed some painkillers and water, pausing to snatch the thermometer just as I went back into the living room.

He was still laying exactly where I'd left him, gazing at the wall. He looked up as I entered and the defeated look in his eyes made me feel slightly guilty.

"I didn't bring you here to deliberately piss you off, ya know. I just don't think garage shops make the best recovery rooms."

"Yeah, I know," he replied slowly. "Sorry."

"For what?"

"For being a right pain in the ass."

"Nothing new there," I smirked and he sent me a wane smile.

"And sorry for all the names I called ya too."

To be honest I hadn't paid much attention when he'd been ranting so I couldn't even tell you what he said.

"It's fine. You want these?"

I held out the glass and the bottle of painkillers and he took them instantly. He struggled with the bottle cap for a few moments until I took it back and uncapped it for him, tipping out a couple of tablets into his palm which he swallowed quickly with the help of the water. When he'd finished drinking, I placed the back of my hand on his forehead and frowned. He were awful hot.

"Here, Steve, this next."

He eyed the thermometer with obvious displeasure but I gave him a look that could rival one of Soda's and he reluctantly allowed me to place it under his tongue.

"Back in a sec."

I took the glass and headed to the kitchen for more fluids. He was rather sweaty and I didn't want to risk dehydration. When I came back with orange juice, I took the thermometer out and read it off.

"99.1."

Huh. I stared at him suspiciously and he looked back at me with wide, innocent eyes. Yeah, right.

"Did you keep this in the entire time I were in the kitchen?"

"...Yes."

I narrowed my eyes. He sighed.

"No."

"Do it again," I instructed.

He scowled at me but complied. I kept my eyes on him the whole two minutes and when I removed it from his mouth for the second time, the result was much more what I expected, even if it wasn't the most desired.

"102.8. Dammit, little buddy, I were just hoping this was a cold."

I had been perched on the edge of the couch beside him, so didn't miss the violent shiver that went through him.

"Ya cold?" I asked, concerned.

He nodded.

"Ya should have said," I half-scolded, standing up.

Before too long, I had a pile of bedding dumped on the sofa and he had cocooned himself up inside several blankets. I had given him pillows as well and he looked in the midst of falling asleep. Well, good, I thought, quietly backing away. Might do him some good to get some decent rest. I headed to the kitchen. Soda and Pony would be coming home soon and I needed to get the dinner on.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author Note: Pretty short chapter, just to round everything off. I got the 'flu' bit in from the title, just needed the friendship. :)**

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><p><strong>Soda's POV<strong>

I picked Ponyboy up from track practice on my way home from the DX and we got home to find Steve out soundo on the sofa, with Darry in the kitchen gazing blankly at a pan of bolognese sauce.

"A watched pot never boils," I told him, moving to his side.

He blinked, the faraway look in his eyes vanishing, and he smiled at me.

"It boiled a long time ago, little buddy."

"Whatcha thinking 'bout?"

"Ah, nothing much. You guys ready for food?"

We took to that idea like fish to water and the three of us sat down to dinner, after a brief debate about whether to wake Steve. We chose to let him rest but we only got a few bites into the meal before Two-Bit came breezing through the door, slamming it behind him of course, and found us in the kitchen.

"Hey, guys, room for one more?"

"Like you have to ask, Two-Bit. Pull up a chair."

He did eagerly and I switched my attention to Steve, who had just appeared in the doorway wrapped in a blanket. He scowled at Two-Bit thunderously, except our other friend seemed oblivious as usual.

"Hey, Steve, ya hungry?"

"Nah," he replied, shaking his head. "Feeling kinda queasy."

"Don't hurl on my floor, little buddy," Darry told him in mock-seriousness, pointing a fork at him.

Steve just grinned.

"Get Two-Bit to clear it up. It'd be his fault for waking me."

"Why? Were ya asleep?" Oblivious asked, looking up with a mouthful of spaghetti hanging down his jaw.

Steve rolled his eyes and wandered back into the living room, no doubt to go back to sleep.

"Two-Bit wouldn't know a mop if it whacked him about the face," Ponyboy teased.

Two-Bit faked hurt and folded his arms, pouting.

"Darry!" he whined. "Defend me!"

"Why? He's telling the truth."

Two-Bit kicked him good-naturedly under the table and Darry narrowed his eyes at him. I guess I musta blinked because the next thing I knew, Two-Bit's face was smashed into his own heaped-up plate of bolognese and Darry was calmly eating his pasta, not paying him no mind.

Two-Bit sat up, and me and Pony cracked up at the priceless look on his face. He looked like he really couldn't quite grasp what had happened, despite the sauce running down his cheeks and dripping from his chin.

"'Kay," he muttered, dazedly. "I'll guess I'll go...clean up or something."

He got up and vanished into the bathroom. Me and Pone stared at our 'responsible' older brother until he felt our gaze and looked up. He grinned at us.

"I couldn't resist," he admitted.


End file.
